


The Scarlet Wedding

by twistedthicket1



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluffiness, M/M, Marriage, Not really though, Romance, Sentiment, slight angst, stream of drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedthicket1/pseuds/twistedthicket1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on this prompt:<br/>Sherlock asks Irene Adler to be his best man at his wedding<br/>To whom he is getting married, I'll leave up to you.</p><p>Irene is surprised when Sherlock asks her out to dinner. However what surprises her more is how much the detective has changed since she last laid eyes on him.<br/>And yet how strangely, he is still the same. Still, When he asks her to help in his marriage to John Watson, she has to wonder if he might not be just slightly insane....</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scarlet Wedding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1butterfly_grl1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1butterfly_grl1/gifts).



> Prompt given to me by butterfly :3 
> 
> \- Sherlock asks Irene Adler to be his best man at his wedding  
> To whom he is getting married, I'll leave up to you.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! If you have a prompt or constructive criticism, please let me know!! :3

 

 

She had never been one to indulge in something as silly as sentiment. At least, for most things. Even as a little girl, she had never been one to plan her wedding, never one to imagine herself in flowing skirts of satin and silk, crinoline and lace. White was only her colour when it was stained by the taste of crimson, and the idea of spending her life forever with just a single person to her had seemed wasteful and dull. Why would she chain herself to one single person, tie her hand to another's and effectively ruin the chances at experiencing something wonderful later on in life?

 

Yes, she did not often indulge in sentiment.

Although occasionally, she did dream of walking down that aisle in a snow-white dress. If only because she'd do it in blood red heels, her favourite pair of ruby pumps.

And waiting for her would be Kate at the end of the day.

But neither wanted a wedding, and so that dream was better left a fantasy in both the bedroom and the mind.

 

However, she didn't object to other people having weddings, despite the tradition's misogynistic roots and the ridiculous amount of money that could be spent on it. Though she was a dominatrix at heart, she had a certain soft spot when she watched other's happiness unfold.

Though she would have never thought Sherlock Holmes to be the one to indulge in something as frivolous as  _sentiment._

 

Which was why when her phone  _pinged_ softly at the side of her bed in the middle of the night, the last thing she expected was a wedding invitation. It was simple, spartan in design. Typical of the detective. And yet the words typed on that glowing screen made her sit up in bed, blinking away the sleep from her eyes so she could read the text clearly.

 

_John asked me to marry him.-SH_

Sharp.

Matter of fact.

 

Almost as if he was asking her a question. Irene wasted no time in replying.

 

_**I take it you said yes.... Please tell me you said yes and that you're at least not that thick.-IA** _

 

The reply was typically caustic as well as confusing.

 

_Of course I'm not a moron. Let's have dinner. -SH_

 

Irene's fingers flew over the keypad, her brow furrowed in perplexed amusement.

 

_**Dear God, I hope you realised that all this time I never actually meant let's have actual dinner.- IA** _

 

Sherlock's only reply was a curt

 

_We'll meet at Angelo's.- SH_

 

and then as an afterthought

 

_Wear a disguise. You're supposed to be dead.- SH_

 

****

Married life strangely suited the enigmatic man that waltzed into the Italian restaurant only a few hours later. Sherlock was still just as eerily beautiful as he had been the first time Irene had laid eyes on him, thin as a knife-edge, eyes sharp over angular cheekbones and a mess of dark curls. However, something had softened in that gaze as it swept over to her and held, a certain warmth pervading the irises even as the man walked over to the table and sat across from her without hesitation. When Sherlock's long, elegant hands came to rest on the surface of the table, she saw the glint of a simple gold band.

 

Elegant and yet plain. Not unlike the detective's counterpart, one John Watson himself.

 

She smiled at him, dark hair hidden by a blonde wig that fell to her shoulders realistically. She wore clothes that were not like her own, decidedly less showy and conservative. A soft green sweater and dark jeans. She wore trainers.

 

Still, as the man's stare lingered over her calculatingly, there was nothing Irene could do to hide her cat-like grin.

 

“It's been a long time, Mr. Holmes.”

 

Sherlock's deep voice rumbled like the echoes of soft thunder.

“You're looking well.”

 

“Been just getting settled back into London. It's been nearly four years after all. Kate's been taking me furniture shopping for the new flat.”

 

She flashed him a coy smile, sipping the water she had ordered before he had arrived. It's cool, as chilly as his eyes as he looks at her assessing the amount of suffering she's been through the past couple of years. Running. A fugitive's life. Too often feeling as though she could turn around and find her hunter's lingering by her throat.

 

There were days she had been afraid she wouldn't survive.

 

And yet, somehow here she was, and somehow, it always came back to Sherlock Holmes. Like a moon drawn to its planet, that's all she and John Watson were. At least, that's what she had believed until now.

 

Now, she wondered to herself if Sherlock hadn't been the moon all along, his army doctor the blazing sun. What did that make her? She wasn't sure.

For with her it had been as much about physical attraction as it had been and intellectual game.

 

Kate knew her and her games. Knew them well.

Irene was drawn from her thoughts by the detective's slight shift in posture. Though he seemed to be good at appearing unfazed by anything around him, it was obvious he held some discomfort at seeing her once again, unsure if she harboured plans of her own. She smiled.

Let him chafe.

 

“Why am I here, Mr. Holmes? To what honour am I graced with your presence if you are supposed to be celebrating the happy announcement with your husband-to-be?

 

Those pale eyes flicked to her face, pulling away to stare intently at the condensation upon her glass. He seemed to be gathering up his courage. Internally, Irene braced herself for bad news. Some case had gone wrong. Something had become undone.

 

He would have to leave again, and leave the poor doctor broken-hearted and bruised.

 

Instead, Sherlock asked her a very simple question.

 

“Would you like to be the best woman to our wedding?”

 

Irene blinked, her lips parting in surprise.

For a moment the two stared at each other in silence, Irene's quiet from shock and Sherlock's from growing embarrassment. As the silence dragged on, a slow, crawling flush crawled up the detective's neck and ears, rosy pink against his marble skin. It seemed like he fought it, worked to keep his expression neutral and cold. However Irene couldn't help it, she cupped her mouth as a giggle escaped, and Sherlock scowled with an expression like thunder and swept up to a standing position and made as if to leave.

 

“Oh, stop it you great fool! Get back here, you must admit it's a  _little_ funny.”

She held out her hand, rolling her eyes as reluctantly the detective reseated himself. Sherlock looked not unlike a cat who'd had his tail rubbed the wrong way, expression affronted and annoyed. He crossed his arms somewhat sulkily over his chest, glowering at the table as he muttered under his breath

 

“All this idiocy for some ceremony. It's  _ridiculous_. Why a wedding is even  _necessary-_ ”

 

“Now don't you go ruining the good doctor's fun.” Irene scolded lightly, still trying and failing to contain her shark-like grin as she reached over to pat Sherlock's arm across the table. He glared at her fingers as if they were unwelcome.

“Chances are he's thought about this for a long while, and it's something that's important to him. You can take out a night of your life to spend the rest of your days with the man you care about, can't you?”

 

The detective grumbled under his breath, but didn't raise much objection. Still, he complained about the rules John had given him.

“He told me to choose two people, a best man or woman and someone to witness. Naturally Mycroft stuck his fat nose in and chose the later.... and I couldn't choose Greg because John picked him to be  _his_ best man...”

 

He said the last part petulantly, like a child denied of attention from his mother. The dominatrix smirked into her glass, finishing her water before replying. Her voice was oozing with self-satisfaction.

“And so you come to me.... Truly Mr. Holmes, are you so low on friends?”

 

Sherlock's lip curled, but his eyes glittered wickedly.

“Not as low on friends as you are on  _funds._ Tell me Miss Adler, when was the last time you had a client?”

 

“When was the last time  _you_ had one?”

 

They fell into a stalemate, looking at each other with scalding expressions until with considerable effort Sherlock ducked his head apologetically.

 

“Please.”

He uttered quietly, and Irene's smug expression slipped from her expression and softened into quiet empathy.

 

“You really love him, don't you? You really want to help with this whole wedding...”

 

Sherlock looked at her, and in his eyes was a glitter of honesty. A crack. She realised in that moment that the detective was letting his mask slip slightly, letting it chip away so she could catch a glimpse of the true emotions beneath.

 

“You'd only ever beg for him.”

She remarked somewhat enviously, wishing suddenly to be a little girl again, hoping one day that someone would give her that look. Sherlock replied instantly, without hesitation. The colour of his eyes seemed to lighten just with words.

“Only ever him.”

 

“Don't you think he might resent my presence?”

 

“He knows now. Knows it's only him.”

 

“Do  _you_ think you might resent my presence? Or anyone else for that matter?”

 

He looked at her, confusion etched momentarily across his features. Then they smoothed in realisation of the test. Of course. Mycroft would be there. If he saw her...

 

“Friends protect people.”

 

Then, almost hesitantly, he smiled.

She looked at him, voice soft.

 

"Am I considered a friend now?"

 

And his smile became more genuine. In an odd way, Sherlock Holmes had never looked younger. Or more uncertain.

"Only if you'd like to be."

 

In the end, she agreed to do it.

 

If only to see John nearly choke and sputter on his evening tea when Sherlock brought her back to the flat.

If only because she thought that maybe, she and Sherlock Holmes had been unlikely friends all along. 

If only because at the wedding, she could see the man she had accidentally fallen in love with become truly happy, shine like he never had before. And she thanked John Watson, a simple conductor of light, even as she leaned into Kate's touch and smiled softly to herself. 


End file.
